


eddie'd gotten good (and richie was there)

by hawrthiacoopri



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: I KNOW I HAVENT WRITTEN IN A YEAR, ILL APOLOGIZE IN THE NOTES, M/M, So is Eddie, leave me alone, listen, richie is my gay son, they lov eachother v much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:02:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9550304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawrthiacoopri/pseuds/hawrthiacoopri
Summary: Maybe it’s just seeing his childhood friend, one who he would have died for, had grown up into such a man, confusing him and befuddling his thoughts. Maybe it's that combined with remembering all of the times (not good or bad, but the times in general) they’d spent together, whether silent and solitary or as a group and noisy, that were making him feel like a teenager again. Maybe it was something entirely different. Knowing himself, it probably was.





	

**Author's Note:**

> IM SO SO SORRY, I APOLOGIZE THAT THIS IS A YEAR LATER AND NOT IN THE SAME FANDOM, I WHOLEHEARTEDLY WANT TO SAY SORRY AND ENJOY THIS TRASH

The only thing Richie “Records” Tozier could manage to think when he saw Eddie Kaspbrak, twenty-seven years after that fateful summer in 1958, was wow.

Not as eloquent as he’d have expected in any other situation, but really, how could he blame himself? Eddie had gotten good, and Richie was there. Wasn’t that what he’d always said? ‘Eddie Got Off A Good One, And We Were There’, or something. Doesn’t matter. Nothing mattered, besides the deluge of memories flooding him and seeing Eddie, both of which were currently making his knees almost buckle.

Maybe it’s just seeing his childhood friend, one who he would have died for, had grown up into such a man, confusing him and befuddling his thoughts. Maybe it's that combined with remembering all of the times (not good or bad, but the times in general) they’d spent together, whether silent and solitary or as a group and noisy, that were making him feel like a teenager again. Maybe it was something entirely different. Knowing himself, it probably was.

Maybe- and most likely, because why else would someone as comically talented as Richie be impaired enough to say only wow- it was the fact that Richie, now thirty-eight, was seeing his pallid, wheezing little eleven-year-old Eds grow up into… something else.

As a kid, Eddie hadn’t been entirely colorless, but his features certainly weren’t noteworthy. He’d been a pale kid, with slicked back hair that was almost the same color as his skin it was so platinum, and his green eyes had been a pale, almost transparent olive. He’d been small, sickly, and altogether, not what Richie’d been looking for as a shallow kid. He’d rather have, at the time, spent his days looking at someone like Bill Denbrough- Bill, after all, was the most handsome of all of them, with his strong jaw, striking red hair, and broad shoulders, right? Indeed, he was. Bill was strong and smart, and although he had a stutter, no one seemed to care, least of all Richie. His brains didn’t stutter, as Eddie’d once said. But now, bordering forty, Bill had grown out of his good looks. There were remnants of it, in his arms and his jaw and his eyes, but his hair was entirely gone, and anyways, he wasn’t exactly wrinkle-free. Richie wasn’t going to pretend that didn’t matter- he, himself, had gone under the sharp knife of plastic cosmetics. Just a little botox here and a nose-job there, but who was he to say he wasn’t skin-deep?

Eddie, on the other hand… Eddie had grown into himself.

Almost everything had changed into something brighter, more healthy-looking. His hair, once flaxen and lifeless, had sprung up without the military gel and comb of Sonya Kaspbrak into lively, dandelion curls that swished and gleamed ever-so-softly with Eddie’s every movement. He’d let it grow until it curled at the nape of his neck and behind his ears. His skin seemed to have lost its ashy quality, now full of pinks. His rounded cheeks, under the light pinch of alcohol, his nose, the tips of his ears, and his lips, especially, seemed saturated in the color.

Richie’s cursory thought was of Bill, of Bill putting that color there, or drawing it out with his own mouth, of Bill staking claim to Eddie before Richie had time to think twice. But of course, that was ridiculous. Bill had never taken an interest in fellas, had he? Not a lick. Richie was sure of it. Eddie’d just grown out of the borderline greys that had dusted over his face as a kid. Boy, had that changed. His eyes, too, seemed to have developed, now a bluish jade, no longer a translucent green. Still pale, but made less so by his champagne-colored suit. Time had really done Eddie a favor, Richie thought offhandedly.

He leaned back now, watching Eddie bounce up and down a little as he talked to Ben. His movements, too, were less jumpy, Richie noticed. More fluid. Rather than shifting from foot to foot nervously, he was now rocking back on his heels and smiling widely at Ben. His teeth were straight. White. Whiter than most. Braces, probably, Richie supposed, and maybe some teeth bleaching thrown in. So, little Eds wasn’t exempt from touch-ups, he thought smugly. Well, not from those kinds of touch-ups. He wondered about a different, more visceral kind, though, somewhere in the back of his mind. He banished the thought, shaking his head slightly, but didn’t take his eyes off Eddie. The rest of the Losers were leaving him alone, assuming he was either remembering things or didn’t feel like talking. He was glad, for the most part. After all, what was he to say? “Hey, Trashmouth, what’s up with you?” “Nothing much, staring at Eds and noticing how fucking good he got, but other than that…” What kind of weird looks would he get? No, he decided, he would just sit here for a few more minutes. Didn’t want to be antisocial, but he wasn’t about to abandon his live broadcast of the headline ‘Eddie Kaspbrak Got Way Pretty, More At Eight’, either. Just a few more minutes, before he’d be forced to hear all about Eddie’s wonderful wife and his beautiful kids.

God, his wife was probably a stunner. Maybe he’d scored some celebrity babe, like Bill had. Or maybe she was just a down-home southern belle, or a Parisian. She probably got to help him work late nights, and see him at his most vulnerable, and maybe kissed him in some places Richie could only dream of touching a man in, but she got to, because she was a woman. Someone beautiful, Richie decided, and left it at that, letting his mind trail off into watching Eddie fidget and smile and ruffle his own hair, threading fingers through his mop and smoothing it, and occasionally letting a hand settle on Ben’s shoulder, laughing at something he’d said, before retracting it and putting it into his back pocket. His inhaler, Richie thought suddenly, he’s still got that damn inhaler. He kept watching, and Eddie kept talking, glancing at Richie absently before beaming. He said a last word to Ben, strolling amiably towards Richie’s refuge at the table with his hands in his pockets. Richie wiggled his fingers, grinning crookedly and letting himself slouch a little lower in his seat.

“Hey there, Trashmouth,” Eddie said, his voice saccharine and lilting. He pulled up a chair, sitting in front of Richie. “Goodness, you’ve gotten tall, yeah?”

Richie looked down at himself, draped lazily over his chair, smirking slightly and replying, “yeah, I suppose I did. Six feet, I think. Yeah, sounds around what the doc’s told me. I’m called Records now, though, Eds.” Richie sat up straighter, crossing his legs and leaning forward to ruffle Eddie’s hair.

Eddie giggled, ducking out of Richie’s grasp, batting at his hands and looking at him in fake annoyance. “Eds? Really, Richie? After all these years?”

Richie looked fondly at him, rolling his eyes and smiling. “Yes indeedy. You got a problem with that, baby?” He propped his head of up his palms, looking intently at Eddie. “You changed, though, didn’t you, little Eddie? I know you did.”

“Hey!” Eddie gave him a light punch to the shoulder. “I guess I did. What about it?”

“Just noticing.” Richie smiled and, taking what he thought of as a risk, let his gaze dip down from Eddie’s face. He sure hadn’t grown too tall, as you’d expect from a kid who was 4’8” at twelve years old, only about 5’5”, and he’d stayed small; the same short, thin, nervous, asthmatic blondie Richie had known and loved. He seemed almost too thin, but who was he to say? “Your wife let you eat, Eds?”

“Pardon?”

“Does your wife let you eat, I says,” Richie switched into an Italian mobster Voice; one that was much, much better than what Eddie had ever heard out of Richie before. “Well? Can’t you talk? She don’t let you talk back? Not even to Uncle Richie?”

Eddie laughed, the comment dawning on him. “Oh, well, what a strange thing to say!” He straightened up, putting an absent hand to his stomach and pressing his shirt against his skin. He really, really was thin. Richie guessed his hypochondria had gotten in the way of enjoying a good meal for a few years. Fear of heart disease, maybe, or food poisoning. “I suppose she does, I just don’t have much time to eat, what with running the limo company and all…” He took his turn to look at Richie, his long legs propped comfortably up on another foldable chair. He saw a glimpse of the young, bespectacled boy he once has been in the lanky man in front of him, but soon that was gone, lost amidst Richie’s (almost imperceptibly done-up) straight nose, dark russet hair and contact lenses.

“Ah, yes, your Big Important Limousine Company, how could I forget?” Richie said, swinging his legs off the chair. He batted his eyes and sat up primly, imitating Eddie’s posture and, for his next bit, Eddie’s voice, a cheap falsetto of a parody that somehow got his point across. “Hiya, I’m Eddie Kaspbrak, and I sure do own a lot of cars for such a little fella! I still believe in the tooth fairy, and-” he was cut off by Eddie’s torrent of giggles, somehow comically high pitched next to Richie’s clear allusion to Eddie’s already soprano voice. That hadn’t changed, either, he supposed.

“Stop, stop! God, Richie!” Eddie, laughing again, put a hand on Richie’s shoulder, leaning in closer and adjusting his own glasses. “I don’t either believe in the tooth fairy!”

“Well, your baby-face says otherwise, sorry!” Richie teased, before grabbing Eddie’s glasses and trying them on. “How do you see in these? The prescription’s so damn weak, Eds!”

Eddie grabbed for his glasses, but the taller man simply lifted them above his head. “I can see just fine, thank you very much, but not without them on!”

“Maybe you should take a break from seeing,” Richie said, “just a little breather from the world. Especially with what’s gonna happen with us soon, once Mike starts up again.” Eddie simply shook his head, yellow curls bouncing and catching the light, and leaned across the chair.

“Richard Tozier, you will give me those glasses this instant! Or else!”

“I choose else.” Richie replied, but he wasn’t quite sure he did. “Else sounds better.”

Else did, indeed, sound better. Eddie scooted his chair closer to Richie’s and reached up for his glasses, before abandoning his own chair altogether and standing up. His stature combined with Richie’s lax position made for an almost matched combination; he leaned over the redhead, pressing his chest almost into Richie’s nose on accident, and reached for his glasses yet again, but was unable to grab them, as Richie simply moved them backwards and smirked. Eddie, in turn, leaving behind any form of keeping to himself in an effort to get his depth perception back, put his knee up between Richie’s now-open legs and grabbed his shoulder, craning his entire body into the auburn-haired comedian before it was right up against him. Still though Richie persisted, and, reluctantly, stood up, lifting the metal-rimmed lenses up in the air.

“Still like else, Rich?” Eddie asked, continuing to put up a fight by grabbing Richie’s arm and dragging it down, getting up on his toes to do so.

“I’m doing all right,” he shot back, thoroughly enjoying being pressed flush against this petite model of a man and putting a hand on Eddie’s waist. “Just fine, in fact, shorty.”

Eddie was about to open his mouth, to object to being called short, to ask what ‘just fine’ meant in this situation, when a more feminine voice broke in.

“You two having a good time?” Beverly cocked an eyebrow, looking the pair up and down, from their colored cheeks to their touching hips to their feet, Eddie’s on tiptoe and Richie’s firmly planted.

“Yes we are, Miz Marsh,” Richie replied smoothly, zipping his z and pushing away from the diminutive Kaspbrak, pocketing the aforementioned’s aviator-style glasses. “A couple of chucks, in fact. Eds, here, was just about to accompany me outside for a smoke, isn’t that right, Edward?”

Eddie glared at him playfully, making a last-ditch effort to grab his lenses, and retorted, “that’s not my name, and you know that damn well… but yes, if you say so.”

“Indeed I do, Eddie, indeed I so. Shall we?” Richie held out his arm, which Eddie took in good humor, and led him out of the restaurant door.

Richie, true to his word, lit a smoke and looked at the street. Eddie followed suit, gazing wistfully at the passing cars and at Richie’s smoke-plumed face with a sense of insane calm. They were here, in Derry, on account of a killer clown that he’d helped defeat with his aspirator, and somehow, he was still able to check out his (admittedly good-looking) childhood friend without remorse or worry? Absurd! Absurd even by his own, newfound standards!

Still, he did, and didn’t exactly feel bad. Richie noticed, eventually and winked at Eddie. “See somethin’ you like, Spaghetti, man?”

“I- what? Oh, no, oh my no, I’m married, and I’m-“ Eddie babbled, but he was cut off by an arm around his waist and a friendly smile from Richie’s end.

“You ain’t gotta be shy, Eds! C’mon, give your old pal a kiss on the cheek. What’s the difference? We’ve done it before!”

Oh, yes. That day down in the Barrens. Eddie’d nearly forgot.

“Well, yes, but it wasn’t like that… and back then- back then you weren’t… er…” He trailed off, unsure of whether that was a polite sentence to finish.

“Lookin’ for fellas?” Richie offered, putting on a 1940s announcer Voice. “An avowed bachelor? A queer?” He chuckled. “Well, sure I was, Eds! Didja see me? Criminy, I had one eye on Bill practically all the time, and don’t you lie, you did too- don’t give me that look- and one on whatever I was pretending to do. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, and I wasn’t exactly going to hide it forever.  
“So,” Richie kept going conversationally, “How many?”

“How many… what?”

“How many… guys?” Eddie looked stricken, so Richie continued after flicking away his cigarette, “oh, come the fuck on, Eddie, you don’t expect me to believe you’ve never sacked it with someone besides your boring old wife, do you?”

“I- I haven’t- I’ve never even- why would you say that?” The blond stammered, all the while smarting at Richie’s roaming hands. His fingers were on Eddie’s hip, then his torso, then his midriff again, flicking into the gaps between his shirt’s buttons and touching bare skin (dammit why hadn’t he worn an undershirt), before darting out and settling on his waist and starting over. Eddie’s never experienced something like that before, something quite so natural and pleasing. He wanted more, and even more than that for it to be over.

“God, would you stop with the stutter, Eds, that’s not your thing! Puff on your damn inhaler if you need to, don’t take Bill’s thunder.” Richie teased, hugging his shoulder closer and relaxing it, making Eddie squeak. “Baby cat noises, huh? Very original, I’ll give you that, stud…”

“Shut up for a minute, would you, Rich?” Eddie said slowly, looking up at him. “Thank you. I need a minute.” He shifted a little, turning so that he’s facing Richie. “So you…? Want me to…?”

Richie snorted. “Obviously, Eds, Jiminy, I thought I was being straightforward.”

“No, no, you are, trust me, you are, but it’s just… I dunno. Don’t mind me.” He put a shaky hand on Richie’s shoulder, letting it slide down to his forearm.

“Trust me,” Richie breathed, grinning slightly, “I won’t unless you tell me to. I don’t mind anyone, sweetcheeks, not anyone…”

Eddie leaned in slightly, unintentionally, as if they were being drawn together by a force he didn’t quite understand- which, he supposed, they were; all of them were, after that summer day in August in 1958 when Mike had hopped the junkyard fence, they’d had a sort of connection, but dammit, don’t think about Mike right now, Kaspbrak- and looked up at the taller man. “Oh, don’t you?”

“Not at all, Eds; why d’ya think I’m single? With all of this going for me?” Eddie tried to keep his eyes up, he really did, but his eyes flicked down towards Richie’s chest and torso, and then back to his face, his cheeks heating up. “Yeah, no. I just can’t be tied down, I guess.”

“I bet I could.” Eddie replied quickly, without thinking, almost, before desperately backpedaling. “I- I mean, I could probably-” He was cut off by a hand carding through his hair, and he sighed a little. Boy, that was nice. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Richie whispered a quick, “I’d like to see you try,” before stepping just a tad closer to the blond. Eddie gulped, suddenly aware of the immensity of a seven-inch height difference. Man, had Rich always been so tall? He didn’t think so. No, definitely not. He’d been almost as short as he himself has been, hadn’t he? Richie smirked at Eddie’s reaction, even taking the opportunity to press even closer to him, making Eddie feel the need to clear his throat. “Oh, are ya nervous all of a sudden, Eds? Really?”

“I’m not nervous,” Eddie replied instantly, although he most definitely was. Hell, he’d never even been touched like this by his wife, let alone someone like Richie Tozier.

The man himself laughed lightly, taking his hands off of Eddie and stepping back. “Sure you’re not, sport, sure you’re not. I’m sure.”

“I’m not!” Eddie squeaked, his voice breaking just as he’d have liked to sound at least a little masculine. “I’m not nervous at all, I swear!”

Richie looked on amusedly, watching this slight boy of a man struggle with his voice. “If you say so, Eds…”

Suddenly, the urge to wipe that smug look off of Richie’s face overtook Eddie Kaspbrak. All he wanted, in that moment, was to see Richie blushing and mumbling under his touch. So, he did what he knew might work. 

“Hey, Rich?” Richie turned quickly, snuffing out another cigarette, God, what a waste of paper! Eddie smiled sweetly, before lifting himself up on his toes and putting hands behind Richie’s neck and pulling him slightly down. “You wanna try something?” He nodded, raising an eyebrow at the delicate man. 

Eddie took that as confirmation, and leaned up quickly to press a kiss to Richie’s lips. He meant to pull away, he really did, but Richie just felt so right and Eddie just needed something that didn’t feel all wrong now, just in case nothing ever felt correct again. Even if he had to lose an arm and a leg to feel this again, he knew, he would, even for a peck on the cheek. But for now, Eddie had Richie Tozier all to himself, and he was going to enjoy it. He put hands on either side of Richie’s face, pulling himself up and pulling back only to take a breath before kissing him again, and again, first on his cupid’s bow and then on the side of his mouth, before clicking his lips back into place on Richie’s. They finally, finally parted, and were no longer two teenagers, madly in love. Once again they were upper-class thirty-somethings, childless and virtually single, lonely and, for the first time, blissfully happy to be out in the street. 

“Nice?” Richie said quietly, reaching for Eddie’s hand.

Eddie took his hand, gripping his fingers tightly in his own, more spindly ones, drawing circles on the back of his palm. “Nice.”

“Swell.” Richie rocked onto his heels.

“So-” Eddie looked up at Richie, once again appreciating his longtime friend. “Inside? Back to civilization, you’d say?”

“Sure,” Richie sighed, clearly unhappy with this proclamation. “Let’s go.”  
And go they did go back inside, into the brightly lit room Mike had rented, back into normalcy, hardly daring to let go of the other’s hand until they were just at the door, as if they were stupid high-schoolers trying to see how far they could go. They went pretty far, really.

Farther than they’d go again. But they didn’t need to know that.

They never did.


End file.
